


compromise

by riahk



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Healing, Kissing, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29010936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahk/pseuds/riahk
Summary: After the war, Dorothea follows her husband Felix wherever his work as Duke Fraldarius takes him. Always. No matter the danger. After another close call, Felix tries to propose a compromise — and to resist Dorothea's skilled persuasions otherwise.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19
Collections: Felix Rarepair Week 2021





	compromise

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the prompt 'Injury/Competition' for day 3 of Felix Rarepair week! It takes inspiration from their paired ending:
> 
> "After the war, Felix inherited the title of Duke Fraldarius from his late father, Rodrigue. He married Dorothea, and the two began a happy life together. After they had finished restoring Fraldarius territory, Felix traveled across Fódlan as the king's right hand. Dorothea traveled with him always, and even threw herself into battle alongside him every so often. Tales of their bravery endured for generations, thanks in no small part to the operas that Dorothea wrote and composed herself."
> 
> Enjoy!

Felix returns from the bath to the sound of singing. It's a halting half-melody, but the woman weaving her voice through the air makes it sound like a structured symphony, lithe and textured and alive. Steam sneaks through the doorway as he steps out into the main suite, patting his hair dry with a towel and breathing in the cooler air. His eyes close instinctively to listen, words sprinkled in with hypnotic humming. He only flutters them open again when the sound stops, and the first thing he sees is a set of viridian irises inches from his, the graceful slope of a nose and cheeks that give way to rosy lips — unpainted at the moment, but still gorgeous — that curl upward into a sly smile. "Hello, sweetheart," Dorothea says, and her words are like music too.

Her palms hover beside his damp ears before resting on the sides of his warm neck, exhaling slowly as her gaze flicks over his face. Felix drops the washcloth in his hand and Dorothea draws a sharp breath as he takes hold of her waist and pulls her in, kissing her like he's set on stealing her voice away. It's a short but electric embrace, and when there's space for air between them again he draws the pad of his thumb down the center of her lips. She nearly bites the rough skin as it passes over. "Miss me?"

Dorothea steps back with a smirk. He was away (read: in the next room) for barely an hour. "I thought you don't joke," she comments with a chuckle.

"Then I was being serious," he replies as he walks past her, scooping up a robe to match the one Dorothea is already wearing and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Dorothea pads over the rug and he spots the cream-white of parchment near one of the pillows; her notebook rests wide open on the duvet, half of a page dark with ink. Words scribbled over stray musical notes. "What have you been up to over here?" he asks, picking the journal up and scrutinizing it. He doesn't really understand, and Dorothea knows this, but that doesn't stop her from snatching the book from his hands. A gesture that hints at embarrassment, except that she grins like she's incredibly pleased with herself.

She sinks down into the mattress as Felix lays out in front of her, facing the ceiling. "I'm working on an opera," she explains, eyes alight like she's telling him a secret.

He turns his head to look sidelong at her, arms crossed and inquisitive. "Another one?"

A puff of laughter escapes her lips. "I'll write as many as our little excursions inspire," she says, swinging her legs up onto the bed and scooting closer until her thigh is pressed against his side, leaning over his torso and running her fingers idly over his stomach. "That attack in the woods really took us by surprise, didn't it? So thrilling, though," she recalls. "The type of moment an audience would love." Felix watches her gesticulate with her other hand, imagining the stage.

"We barely got out of there unscathed," he agrees, though his voice is stiffer, more serious. "A bit too close for comfort, if you ask me."

Both of Dorothea's hands still, and she lowers down to settle happily in the crook of his arm. "Are you comfortable now?" His skin tingles where it touches hers, a sensation Felix thought would grow less intense and euphoric over the length of time they've now been together. But it never has. He's gotten better at relaxing into it, though.

Still, there is an emotion budding into a lump in his throat, a persistent thought burning holes in his head. "Yes," he replies quietly, eyes on the ceiling because he knows how unconvincing an answer it is, even if it's still partially true. Unlike Dorothea, he's not a great actor. He swallows, turning to meet her eyes. "I'm getting nervous having you accompany me on all my trips," he says, running his hand along her shoulder. "Mainly the dangerous ones — though these days, any situation seems more than capable of turning violent."

Dorothea is quiet, even when she responds warily. "Are you concerned I'll get hurt?"

"Or worse," he blurts out anxiously, displeased with the way his body tenses. "I think—"

"If you're trying to convince me to stay at home while you perform your duties for weeks — hell, months, even — at a time," she begins, muscles shifting minutely. "I'm not interested." Her voice is dark, decisive, and Felix knows he’s in for a difficult argument. But it’s a discussion they need to have.

“Don’t you tire of fighting?” he begins. “You always lamented it so during the war.” Felix wasn’t the religious type — never had been — but he’d spent a surprising amount of time in Garreg Mach cathedral in those final few months of the campaign. Always in the faint remnants of sunset, when he would find Dorothea hunched in front of the Altar of Seiros, face wet with tears and voice trembling with half-spoken, half-hearted prayers. After the initial few instances, it was the first place he looked when she mysteriously disappeared after dinner or training. He even managed to get there before she’d completely cried her eyes out, once or twice.

Her adverse opinion seems to have changed since victory day. “These skirmishes we find ourselves engaged in are very different from the battlefield,” she says, though her tone betrays some doubts. After a moment of thought, she continues. “House Fraldarius is esteemed for its might. Swinging a sword or lobbing a spell every so often keeps me sharp, and keeps that reputation intact.”

An easy enough point to combat. “You know I don't concern myself with reputation,” he replies.

She doesn’t seem to care for what Felix does and doesn’t concern himself with. Her fingers walk daintily over his chest as her voice grows bright with smug confidence. “Besides, I seem to recall it was my skill with a blade that finally caught your attention back at the monastery,” she reminds him. Felix is embarrassed by the next set of memories that inevitably sneak into his mind, clouding his judgment now just as they did then. “If I lose that, what will I have to entice my husband with?”

“You're fishing for compliments,” he mumbles, stifling a groan and trying not to look into her eyes.

But her hand, steadily creeping upward, cups his jaw and gently turns him to face her anyway. “I'm asking a perfectly reasonable question,” she purrs, staring expectantly.

Instead of words, Felix calmly removes her hand from his face and gives her palm a squeeze. Then, he runs his hand along her leg and over her hip, following the contour of her body up to her chest. “There's plenty here to hold my interest.” Dorothea appears pretty enraptured herself, a hint of knowing pride in her expression. But Felix doesn’t just want to praise her body. He tucks her hair behind her ear. “And even if your swordplay dulls, I know that wit of yours will always stay sharp.”

That manages to fluster her. “Ah,” she breathes, and Felix smiles knowingly. It’s good to see that she still gets surprised when he shows even the slightest glimpse of his true feelings. Her head shakes as she recovers from the strategically placed distraction, pressing even closer against him and tapping lightly against his collarbone. “And these are all things that you would miss dearly if I did not accompany you,” she teases.

Felix is serious again. “Dorothea. This is a matter of safety.”

“ _My_ safety, maybe,” she says with a huff, matching his sternness and propping herself up to a half-seat, eyes drilling into him. “You think you’re the only one who worries about their loved one being thrown into danger?” Her voice whines with concern. “Let’s just agree that we want to be there to protect each other and move on, shall we?”

He averts her gaze. “We have a battalion of highly-trained guards for a reason. And I’m perfectly capable—” he stops himself, knowing he’s treading a thin line. Dorothea’s hand is dangerously close to his throat.

But her fingers trail away, and she rises fully to a seat, swinging one leg over him so she’s straddling his waist. “No need to stop, Felix,” she says, her voice rumbling. “I know you can handle yourself.” The way her hips shift — fluid, like a dancer — and her nails trace down his arms is a bit too deliberate for her serious words, and his mind is reeling from the mixed signals. “But the same goes for me,” she continues, curling her grip around his wrists and leaning in so her face hovers inches above his, dark curls cascading over his skin. “Perhaps you’d like to spar to refresh your memory?”

This has happened before, he remembers now. Several months ago, after another close call: Felix had insisted she stay behind the front line and avoid close combat. Except she’d refused, naturally, wanting to be at his side. And when he’d brought the incident up later, she’d challenged him to a duel that they never followed through on; because Felix, like a fool, had gotten much too distracted by the way Dorothea had asked. She is asking him in a very similar way now, her body close and her steady, assertive breath making his own erratic and uncontrollable.

“No,” he bites out, breaking free of her loose grip and tracing her hairline. He isn’t going to let her defer this discussion again, no matter how much he wants to.

“No?” she asks, suddenly soft with surprise.

“Your arm,” he says, a hint of a smirk on his lips. He’s been waiting to bring this up, and with the guilt pooling in Dorothea’s eyes he knows he’s chosen the right time.

Her apprehension dissipates a moment later, replaced by determined deceit. “What about my arm, Felix?”

“I’d like you to show it to me.” Dorothea’s palms are resting on his chest, and he can feel them shaking. “The left one,” he specifies. When she does not answer, his hand moves to her wrist, fingers creeping under the fabric of her sleeve and sliding upward.

Dorothea rises abruptly, breaking out of his grip and tugging the fabric back down with a wince. “Shit,” she mutters, though whether it’s from pain or the realization that she’s given herself away is unclear. “Felix, I—”

“Let me see,” he whispers gently, another trick he knows to make her more pliant. She moves off him and sits with her legs kicking restlessly over the edge of the bed, waiting for Felix to follow her up. He settles next to her, smoothing his hand over her lower back. Dorothea offers her arm to him delicately, eyes fixed nervously on her lap. Felix slides the cloth slowly; just before her elbow, the skin discolors into a cloud of deep blue and purple, surrounding the red line of a slash mark. “As I thought,” he says, rolling the sleeve up over her shoulder, resisting the urge to touch the wound. He’d seen the attack she received in the chaos of fighting; after all, no matter how focused he is in combat, he always has an eye on Dorothea. Clearly she thought she could conceal it. “This looks like it hurts.”

“Quite a bit,” Dorothea admits, turning to better face him as she pulls her arm to her chest. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she explains. “After all, as demonstrated earlier, you seem ready to pounce on any reason to keep me away from risky situations.”

The shame in her eyes is making his chest ache. “Dorothea—”

“It’s nothing compared to some of the injuries you’ve sustained,” she interrupts, her earlier defiance returning. “So if you think this is going to help you win our argument—”

“Please,” Felix cuts in. “I couldn’t care less about winning an argument. Your arm is what needs attention.” He leans in close, taking her face in his hand and directing her to look at him. Dorothea breathes slowly, processing, her heart still beating quickly. She slips away, running her fingertips lightly up the cut with a wince.

“I’ve been tending to it,” she says. “I suppose it’s about time for another healing spell,” she adds. Her opposite hand moves to hover over the bruise, but Felix stops her.

“Wait,” he says, and before Dorothea can react further his own palm is floating over her bicep, glowing light emitting first from his fingertips and spreading further across his own skin before passing on to hers. He can feel her shocked gaze on his face, and can’t help but tweak the corners of his lips upward in a smirk. “Got something to say?” he asks, meeting her eyes triumphantly.

“When did you...”

“About three months ago,” he answers readily. “When we went to Gautier to aid them in dealing with brigands.” Dorothea appears to remember it well, with the way her face is flushing again. “When you took that spell meant for Sylvain.” She’s smiling now, and Felix can’t fathom why, but he continues nonetheless. “Very noble, but a bit stupid, and something that scared us both nearly to death.” He returns his focus to healing her, the task still relatively new to him and requiring concentration. “I began reading the book on faith magic that night—”

Before he can finish, his mouth is abruptly occupied, Dorothea's lips swooping in to claim his. Distracted, his hand drops away from her arm and instead wraps around her waist, drawing her closer instinctively. He isn't entirely sure _why_ she’s kissing him, but there’s no sense complaining about it. Dorothea's right hand grips the cloth of his robe, her injured arm draped over his shoulder; he sneaks a glimpse mid-kiss, smiling to see that the darkened spots are more faded after his brief work. Dorothea must notice the curve of his grin, because she hums happily against it before finally pulling her face away from him. Or he thought she was happy, but Felix spots the shimmer of tears budding in her eyes. "What's wrong? Did I mess up the spell?"

She shakes her head with a sniffle. "No, you did great for a beginner," she says through a low whine sneaking out the back of her throat. "Felix, you… you did all that for me…"

He rolls his eyes. "You cry over the smallest things."

"I just feel things very strongly," she says with a coy pout, turning bubbly again at an impressive speed.

"It must be all the performing experience shining through," he replies with a laugh.

"Excuse you! These ones are real."

He sighs. "I never said they weren't," he retorts, eyes scanning over her. Dorothea really does have a flare for the dramatic, and Felix doesn't hate it — it would pose a problem for their relationship if he did. But it can be easy to mistake for flippancy, a haze of uncertain insincerity he's always struggled with, especially right now. His hand falls to her thigh and his eyes darken as he draws her focus. "I wish apprehension or caution was something you felt strongly more often," he says.

Dorothea narrows her eyes enigmatically, her mouth twisting like she's trying to stifle a quick, reactive response. Instead she lets the statement float, drift, and settle, crawling further onto the bed and sinking her back into the pillows, pulling her knees to her chest. Felix wastes no time following her, and when they're bumping shoulders against the headboard she finally speaks. "Of course I get scared out there," she admits. "For me, for you, for our soldiers. Worry is my default setting, I think. I expend a lot of energy turning it off." She leans her head back. "Except when I'm on stage. I never feel nervous when I play a character," she continues. Her fingers grope for her notebook she'd left on the bed earlier, opening it to a random page with a smile. "That's why I'm always writing operas. To create more characters to take my worries away."

Felix takes a moment to take in the words, his head falling sideways onto her shoulder. "That's one way to deal with negative emotions," he begins, not quite sure where he's going with the thought. It’s not like he has a track record of emotional intelligence. "But right now, maybe you could share them with me instead."

She lets out a sharp, bright exhale that trills her lips. "Well," she breathes. "I suppose the first is that I desperately want you to see me as a capable fighter," she says. Felix wants to protest, but he remains still, compels himself to listen. "Not that I can't generally perform when necessary. But that kind of thing is second nature to you, Fe. No matter how hard I try, I'm always going to be inadequate."

"Now you know what it's like to sing with you," he quips back, unthinkingly. Luckily, Dorothea takes it well, giggling melodically.

"That's… a surprisingly good point."

He nods, and his hand slips into hers. "What else?"

"What else, indeed,” she repeats contemplatively. "Your talents aside, I still fuss over the possibility of you getting hurt. Especially if I'm not around to look out for you."

"So you understand where I'm coming from, wanting to keep you out of harm's way," Felix retorts, momentarily forgetting his resolve to give Dorothea the floor.

A groan escapes her lips, though not for the reason Felix initially thinks. "Dammit. Neither of us wants to budge on this, do they?" she laments. "I want to keep traveling with you, you want me to avoid perilous journeys."

"It's difficult to see a solution, isn't it?" he says, surprised that Dorothea's steering them back toward the conversation she'd so determinedly danced around earlier.

“No,” she huffs stubbornly. “There must be _something_.” Her brow is furrowed and her nose is scrunched in deep, effortful thought. And Felix, despite being the one pushing the conversation, is ironically at the point where he’s comfortable tabling it.

“We can sleep on it, maybe,” he suggests.

Dorothea hums reluctantly, continuing to think. Which is strange, considering it’s in her best interest _not_ to. But eventually her face relaxes in defeat. She heaves a sigh. “That… that might be best.” The gloom of night is apparent from the sliver of window peeking through the drapes, and they’ve had a long day even before this long, arduous conversation. Not to mention they need to be on the road again tomorrow.

So they prepare for bed, with Dorothea rising first to slip out of her robe and change into her nightclothes, taking to her persistent ritual of creams and hair-combing and casting sidelong glances at Felix as she does it all, relishing his attention. Her looks are more frequent tonight, exuding an aura of relief that he can only assume has budded from their earlier confessions, a sense of ease that, little by little, they are understanding each other better.

There’s something else infused into her actions tonight, too, a thick air of contemplation. It’s clear that the gears in her head haven’t stopped turning, that she’s still working hard to find a solution to their problem. Felix almost worries that her restlessness will bleed through into her sleep. It’s still there when she crawls into bed with him, a deliberation apparent even in the graceful way her hand moves to douse the lamps. And before she does, Dorothea has an epiphany.

“I’ve got it,” she says.

Felix wriggles beneath the covers. “What?”

She leans back from the lamp, letting its soft light continue to flicker against their faces as she turns to face him. “A compromise to apply to our dilemma.”

“I'm listening,” he replies sleepily, his cheek sunk into the pillow.

“Look at me, Felix.” He does, and Dorothea returns to a seat on the bed, leaning over his prone form closely enough that he can smell the faint floral of her lotion. “I can promise to stay safe at home under one condition,” she says. There’s a pause, like she’s working herself up to the proposal. “You let me give you an heir.”

His chest tightens as he plays the words back in his head, taken aback and certain he’s misunderstood something. “Pardon?”

Her eyes roll and she looks away; he watches as the hint of a blush crosses her cheeks. “You know, Fe,” she mumbles quietly. “Have a baby.”

Now his ears burn. “Could’ve just led with that,” he replies, tensing when Dorothea’s gaze is suddenly on him again, bright and curious.

“So? What do you think?”

“I… I think it’s a lot to consider,” he says, craning his neck back to focus on the ceiling. “Right now. This year. Maybe even next year, too.” Surely she can’t be expecting to rush into something so major, he thinks. This is a tease, it has to be. She’s circled around their argument so many times that she refuses to go to bed without some form of resolution, no matter how far-fetched it may be.

But she sounds so vulnerable when she speaks again. “You… do eventually want one, right?” she asks, and Felix props up on his elbows to see her fiddling with the sheets. “A family, I mean. With me.”

He makes sure to answer that one swiftly, rising fully to a seat and placing his hand on hers, stilling the nervous fidgeting. “Yes. Of course I do.”

And Dorothea’s satisfaction with his speed is apparent in her smile, the quick lilt of her voice. “Then it’s settled,” she decides, weaving her fingers into his. “It’s a promise.”

Felix nods, though he’s still not entirely clear on what kind of timeline she’s following. Everything is moving so fast, and he can’t tell if he’s unwittingly agreeing to something he’s not yet ready to follow through on. “Dorothea, if this is really still about our earlier discussion, surely we can entertain other ideas—”

“Sure, sure,” she says, practically drunk on enthusiasm. “But I'm following this one regardless.” Her thumb pads over his knuckles, her hips wiggling with more stray energy. Felix breathes slowly, savoring the silence, taking a moment to look at Dorothea and how ecstatic she is. He loves it. But eventually she catches him watching, and she turns to him with flirtation glimmering in her eyes. “How about we try right now?”

Again, it’s not entirely clear how serious she’s being, but the uncertainty is strangely thrilling. It might have something to do with the way her fingers are now creeping up his arm. Felix swallows. “I– I mean, there's no rush,” he stammers. Then, regaining some composure, he graces her cheek with the back of his hand. “I do like having you with me, you know.”

Their faces inevitably drift together, Dorothea’s lips hovering close. “And simply… having me, right?” she asks, voice thick like syrup, one of the only sweet things he can stand. Felix nods slowly and Dorothea exhales, charging the air with intoxicating anticipation. “Have at me, then.”

And so he does.


End file.
